


When You Wake, I'll Be There

by MythologyPastry



Category: I Claudius
Genre: Anachronistic, Ancient Rome, Angst, Childbirth, Divorce, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Friendship, Flirting, Friendship, Heartbreak, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Love/Hate, Married Couple, Non-Sexual Slavery, Politics, Public Display of Affection, Romance, Slavery, Teasing, Tension, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, or close to it anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythologyPastry/pseuds/MythologyPastry
Summary: The relationship between the Emperor Augustus and his Augusta has always been a topic of discussion.





	1. First Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm happy to announce my first multichaptered fic. I hope you enjoy.

**Rome, 39 BC**

 

* * *

 

 

Livia Drusilla will never forget the day she met the man who bested her husband and ruined her father. He's kinder than she expected, but the room still hushes at the sight of him entering. She frowns at the sight of him walking by the women, and forgetting herself, she murmurs his given name, "Gaius Octavius."

 

The test works, and his eyes immediately find hers. Some of the older matrons around her whisper in judgement, but Livia pays them no mind. This man is more important than reputation. She must personally know what type of man he is, if he's worth the scorn of Rome. He makes his way closer to her, and she holds Tiberius tight, mindful of her stomach. She looks the part of a respectable Roman wife, pregnant and dutiful. No onlooker would question the propriety of their conversation.

 

"And who might you be?" He asks quietly, slight annoyance spreading throughout his features. It is well known that Octavian prefers his newer names. They connect him to Julius, after all. There is no greater honor for him.

 

She smiles, her tongue touching her teeth. "I am Livia Drusilla, wife of Tiberius Claudius Nero, and I'm pleased to finally meet you. Your reputation proceeds you."

 

Octavian stills before saying, "My reputation?"

 

"You're obviously a powerful man who cares about Rome. I'm glad that we're finally at peace for my son to meet such a man." She turns to the toddler in her arms and murmurs, "Say hello to him, Tiberius."

 

Tiberius' face scrunches up, but he waves.

 

And to her surprise, Octavian's laugh is delightfully charming. He waves back to her son and looks at her with a pondering look of appreciation. "Rome needs great mothers like you." He finally says, and Livia thinks about his own mother but keeps quiet. This is not the time for insults. It is said that his mother was either one of the greatest matrons the republic has ever known, or the worst. Livia hasn't dedicated much time to interpreting the rumors, but now she believes that it would be a good investment. As she considers this, Tiberius fidgets in her arms, and she lets him down to the ground with the promise he'll go to his father.

 

Turning back to Octavian, she smiles, a true one this time. "Thank you. My children are my life." She presses her hand against her stomach. While the baby hasn't started to kick, the motion keeps her calm. "I apologize for using such a personal address earlier. I had wished to meet you after what has happened. If I insulted you, there has been no greater offense."

 

"You could never offend me." The response is quick, and Octavian steps forward. The distance between them is questionable now, and she's against a wall, and the realization makes her blush. If he's noticed, he doesn't care, his smile never faltering. "It was a good way to get my attention, very clever of you. I enjoy a smart woman."

 

She fights the urge to giggle, reminding herself she isn't a child anymore. It was a polite compliment, she tells herself, nothing more.

 

But the reassurance falls short when Octavian, Gaius, gestures for her to give him her hand. Livia slowly takes her right hand from her stomach to his own palm, and she gasps as he brings hers to his lips. The kiss is long, a pleasant pressure that roots her to the ground. Before he lets her go, she whimpers as he bites her skin playfully. "Well," He says huskily, "I will see you again. Can't let your husband use your mind against me, after all."

 

She's speechless, barely managing to nod. "I can't wait." And it's the truth. She thinks that maybe she's met her match with this one, that maybe he's the only man worth her attention.

 

Octavian grins and warningly glares at the few others in the room before making his way to the rest of the party.

 

She watches him leave before turning to find her son. Livia thinks she'll retire early tonight. After all, she has something on her mind, and she isn't sure when it will leave.


	2. Without Better Things

**Rome, 39 BC**

 

* * *

 

 

"Have you ever met someone who kisses hands?" Livia asks, careful not to meet Clodia Pulchra's eyes. She fears that the grin on her face would give away exactly who she's speaking of, but given Clodia's family history, she would most likely understand the scandal. Her father was known for such sex crimes. What happened between Octavian and Livia would be nothing compared to such shames.

 

Clodia snorts, an ugly sound that scratches at Livia's thoughts. "Only one, when it comes to Romans that is." She pauses, and Livia looks up at her from their figs. Her friend is silent, tears plucking at her eyes, and Livia hates the maternal feeling it evokes in her. To be thrown out like trash by such a man, it must hurt tremendously. They have a year or so between them, but Livia sits up and holds her arms out to the older woman.

 

The two of them huddle together, Livia lightly rubbing at Clodia's back while she sobs. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't realize how my question would hurt." And with that said, she lets Clodia drench her stola with hot tears. The wetness pricks at her skin, and Livia feels, now, that she understands what she's gotten herself into.

 

Why would she ever find such a man attractive? Does she not miss her father? What about the failing Republic?

 

But then there's that voice that points out that power is made by force, that Clodia Pulchra was the victim of her parents' schemes. Octavian simply tied the last knot in her noose. She's better off than most who encounter the Julian heir.

 

Clodia is better off than Marcus Livius Drusus Claudianus. Livia's own father is a mess that she prefers not to think of, but he was no martyr. His death was a pointless moment in time, the culmination of worthless acts. She was married off to her own cousin for her father's politics. He deserved to die by his own hand. He deserved to be remembered with hatred.

 

Livia doesn't blame Octavian, no, Gaius Octavius, for that.

 

"He learned it in the East." Clodia says quietly. "When we were first married, he made it a point to kiss my hand. Our first night, that's all he did."

 

Livia breathes. If she continues to allow herself to think such thoughts, what would happen to their friendship? Roman society might not discuss it often, but the relationship between women can be some of the most potent emotions of all. Both of them understand how utterly men fail them on a daily basis, and she panics at the thought of losing Clodia. But Clodia, as precious as she can be, is just a woman without power, and Livia is addicted to such a trait.

 

She kisses Clodia's cheek as she pulls away from her. "I promise you that there are people out there who would have loved to be in his position." Nothing else has to be said. The two of them smile as the tears go away, and they laugh before returning to their meal.

 

However long this will last, Livia hopes it will help her retain some morality.


	3. With That Said, All Is Well

**Rome, 40 BC**

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Is this not enough for you then?" The question is sharp, an investigation into Octavian's goals. It is a breach of trust, yet Scribonia continues. "What of our future children? What of the sons I will give you? With these wars, there will be nothing in Rome to inherit."

 

"These wars aren't for them," Octavian snaps. "They're for me. Besides, they don't need a city. They'll have an empire."

 

"An empire of squabbling old men? No, Gaius, that is no way to live. All of Latium will have killed themselves under you and Agrippa. That isn't even to mention Antony. Do you think his Egyptian whore keeps him happy?" Scribonia pauses. "Who keeps you happy?"

 

He stops, looking up at the darkening sky. There is no answer that will please her. He has tried every single one. Truth is not good enough for his wife, who thinks herself wise. Wise enough to know men always cheat. Wise enough to know everything without thinking. Scribonia declares herself judge and jury, but doesn't consider the evidence. Is that wisdom, or a folly? So, Octavian says, "I have never cheated on you." And it is true, but that doesn't stop her from laughing.

 

"I don't believe you. Surely you've found time to enter someone's tent while you were away, winning Roman land." She plucks a pear from his favorite tree, breaking off a few twigs in the process. "Even if it was true, you'll find someone more adequate than I. Someone more willing to spread her legs in hopes of power. Rome is the only power I need. It is the republic in which I birthed my children, and it will be the republic in which my children die."

 

Octavian walks to the edge of the garden, hiding his face from her. She is not an easy wife. With her around, he misses Clodia Pulchra every day, even if she hadn't lived up to her name. She was born of beauty, and maybe he had assumed too soon that her beauty wasn't enough. It was her soul that she was named for, and he threw it away like trash. For what? Scribonia?

 

"Have you nothing to say?" He can hear the smirk in her voice, and it nearly compels him to bring his hands to his eyes.

 

"My next wife might willingly spread her legs, but that is only because she will be more intelligent than you." And with that, his tears are nothing compared to the gasp Scribonia lets out.


	4. Come to Terms, and Forgive Me One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I haven't written in a long time. Sorry about that! I hope to write more frequently soon.

**Rome, 39 BC**

 

* * *

 

 

 

While he waits for the birth to be over, Octavian tries to ignore the fact that he will have to see his wife. A dark thought runs through his mind before he can stop it, and he wonders how likely it would be for Scribonia to die after delivering their child.

 

The noise from inside her chambers gets louder, and Octavian scowls, focusing back on his thoughts to tune it out. Divorce is always a messy affair, even when the paperwork is minimal. However, the idea of divorce forces the image of Clodia Pulchra to mind, and he huffs. Skin golden from the sun and a gummy smile, he doesn't think he'll ever forget her face. She was far too happy for him, a subtle reminder that power wasn't everything that was meant for in life.

 

Yet he left her in a standing of ridicule and ruined her family with one fell swoop by forcing her mother, Fulvia, into exile. Was that fitting behavior of the adopted son of Julius Caesar himself?

 

Yes.

 

A small voice calls him to attention, and he looks up from his knees to see Scribonia's youngest slave, something hidden in the curl of her hands. Decima anxiously smiles. "I thought you might want one before you see the baby. Something sweet for the nerves." Octavian holds out his hands, and she carefully drops a few dried figs onto his palms. "It's okay for you to go in now."

 

"It would please me if you could gather the rest of the servants. I'd like to see my wife, alone."

 

Decima nods and swiftly goes back inside. Within seconds, several slaves leave for their quarters, and he eats his figs, flicking the stems onto the ground for them to clean up later. After a few minutes, the midwife comes out, and she says, "Not any issues really. A girl. Just keep your wife on bed rest for a few days while she recovers, and all will be well."

 

"Thank you." And with everyone gone, he swallows any last hesitation and goes to see Scribonia. The room smells of piss and blood, and he flinches at the reality. His wife is propped up by pillows and blankets, and even he can tell that she would topple over without them. She holds the baby up to her chest, all of her strength into that one action. "A daughter?"

 

Scribonia, with a broken voice, murmurs, "Yes."

 

"I suppose we shall call her Julia, after her cousin and my father."

 

There is no response. They both know what Octavian must do.

 

"Am I nothing to you now? Are my familial connections not enough?" The question is humbling to her. Octavian almost doesn't answer, unused to the wounded tone in her voice. However, before he can force the truth out, she wearily says, "My daughter will have to stay with me. _Paterfamilias_ or not, she is of my blood. You have to understand this. It's what she needs, a mother to love her."

 

"A loving mother?" He bites back. "If you couldn't spare any affection for me, I could never entrust you with her. You could never love anyone like you do yourself, not even your daughter, but don't you worry. I will always cherish my daughter."

 

Scribonia looks up at him, the sweat from childbirth still coating her like the slime of a toad. She must have bit her lip while pushing, because her chin and neck are painted with blood. Octavian would be concerned, if looking at her didn't make him want to burn down all of the Subura. "And what of the day when you have sons? Will you still love her then?" She moves to stand from her bed, but a spasm of pain forces her to still her motions, and she curls over Julia with a sob. "I know from experience what it takes to raise a child. Corne-"

 

"Cornelius is dead, Scribonia." Octavian clenches his fist. "I will take no chances. When Julia is old enough to be away from her mother, I will take her from you myself."

 

Tears stream down Scribonia's face, and the long wail she lets out is quickly matched by her daughter's. Octavian leaves them, disgust for both her and himself filling his heart. He tells himself that this is for the best, that his daughter will one day understand. That his daughter will live her life knowing a healthy relationship for husband and wife. That his daughter will never have to personally see her parents fight.

 

That he will be enough. That she won't hate him for taking her away from her mother. That he is a worthy father for his daughter.

 

It must be enough. He will make it so.

 

On his way out, he passes Decima and asks her, "How did you know I preferred figs?" He forces the happiness left by Julia into his voice. It works, making him sound curious and delighted, instead of weary and concerned.

 

Decima grins. "Mistress tells me every time I bring her some that they're your favorite! Did they help?"

 

His stomach climbs up and settles in his throat. Octavian nearly chokes on his words. "Yeah, they did." And with that, he rushes out of the house and heads for the villa of one Livia Drusilla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on Roman culture, shall we?
> 
> Paterfamilias: The concept in Roman culture that the father of the household has absolute control. In this case, Octavian was the only one who had any say in where Julia belonged.
> 
> Subura: A region of the city of Rome known for being a red-light district. It is also where Julius Caesar lived.
> 
> Julia's name: Yes, I said father when it came to her namesake. Remember, Octavian was the nephew of Julius Caesar, but also his adopted son!
> 
> Midwifery: Roman midwifes were free women. Due to Roman culture's... iffy outlook on women, men being associated in anyway with childbirth was seen as a big no-no. Not hugely important to the story, but I highly urge you to read up on it! It's really cool.


End file.
